Project Maigo (3 page)

My aim falters. “Oh my God, you know what I’m saying?”

The woman’s feline eyes squint at me. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

2

In that moment of distraction, when the creature’s eyes lock on mine, Collins pistons her knees up into the cat-woman’s backside—which, I might add, is also quite human and feminine. She’d be attractive, if not for the long tail. Sure, she’s also covered in black hair, but the shiny coat clings to her like spandex. Caught off guard, the cat-woman is pushed forward. Collins uses the momentum, heaving her arms up against her attacker’s chest. The creature is flipped off over Collins’s head, but like a true cat, the cat-woman lands on her feet and is ready for action before Collins can even get up fully.

The cat-woman’s legs coil. She’s about to pounce on Collins’s back. And this time she’s got her claws out.

“I’ll shoot,” I say loudly, aiming at the fully exposed creature. I won’t miss, no matter how fast she moves. Not at this range. “I know you can understand me.”

The cat-woman turns her yellow eyes from Collins to me, squinting like a miffed teenager. In fact, now that I’m looking at her face again, she looks fairly young in human terms. Maybe twenty. But I have no real way of evaluating her age. “I don’t want to kill you,” I add. “But if you attack her again, I won’t hesitate.”

The cat-woman’s face scrunches with frustration. “Yyyyou attacked us first!”

God, she sounds young, too.

“We didn’t attack anyone.” My defense sounds childish as I say it, but it’s the truth.

“Yes, you did!” she shouts, our conversation devolving toward ‘Uh-uh!’ and ‘Ya-huh!’ But then she clarifies. “You pointed your rifle at my girls.”

Girls?

Her
girls.

“Holy shit.” I glance toward the brush where we saw the small black creature. “They’re your children?”

She snarls, bearing white, pointed teeth.

“I didn’t know,” I say.

She looks ready to pounce. “Too late.”

“For what?”

“You’ve seen them,” she says. “I can’t let you leave.”

The threat makes me realize I’ve lowered my aim some. I bring the barrel back up, sighting her chest. I really don’t want to kill this creature. She’s amazing. I just need her to—

The growl building in the cat-woman’s chest focuses me. I slide my index finger over the trigger.

“Wait!” a distant voice shouts from behind me. It’s masculine and very human. I watch Collins’s eyes for signs of surprise or danger, but she just looks confused. Whoever is approaching is human and unarmed. “Don’t shoot!”

I can hear the crunch of running feet on the ground, crushing twigs, leaves and pebbles with each hurried step.

The cat-woman seems to relax as the newcomer gets closer. The growl fades. Her muscles loosen. She’s no longer about to pounce. But I don’t lower my aim. Can’t take the chance. In part because I know the woman is still dangerous, despite her changed body language. And I have no idea who this guy is.

The man rushes past, heading straight for the cat-woman. He carries himself in a comfortable, fearless way, how a father might approach a child. “Lilly,” he says, his tone harsh, but concerned, “What are you doing?”

Lilly?
Seriously? The cat-woman’s name is Lilly?

“They were going to shoot the girls.”

The man stiffens. I don’t see a weapon, but he now has an air of danger about him.

“First,” I say, still hoping to avoid a confrontation, “one rifle is a tranq gun. The other fires a tracking dart. Our job is not to kill...people...or whatever. Second, we never really saw your children. We thought they were skunks. And if you must know the truth,
you
got too close. If you hadn’t been stalking us, we’d have never drawn our weapons.”

The newcomer sighs and gives a shake of his head.

“I was just watching them,” Lilly grumbles.

“You know that’s against the rules,” the man says.

“I just—”

“If something had happened to the girls today, it would have been your fault,” the man says. “Do you understand that? And now you’ve put all of us at risk.”

Lilly’s feline body deflates under the verbal smackdown. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you here?” the man asks, and it takes me a second to realize he’s speaking to me.

I’m about to answer, when I remember that I’m the one in charge. “Actually,” I say, “you can answer that question for me. I am the one with the gun.”

The man hesitates, but then answers. “We live here.”

I look around. “In the woods?”

“A few miles to the north.”

Reservation land. “You don’t look like one of the Ute.”

“Grandfather is Ute,” Lilly says, but she’s quickly shushed by the man.

“Where did she come from?” I ask.

“Can’t tell you that.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to,” I say, adjusting my aim toward the man, as I now suspect he’s got a gun tucked into the small of his back.

“Not going to happen.” The man’s defiance is infuriating.

“Then I’ll just have to arrest you both,” I say.

The man starts to spin toward me, but stops when I shout, “Move and you die!” When the man complies, I add, “Hands in the air.”

“Who are you?” the man asks again, his hands rising slowly. “Are you from DARPA?”

“DARPA?” I ask.

“Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency,” Collins says, picking up her handgun. She steps around the man, looking at his face, and adding her weapon to the threat of violence.

“I know what it stands for,” I say. “And no, we’re not with DARPA. We’re here because of several recent reports of a cat-woman.”

The man’s head snaps toward Lilly.

I add some details so he gets a better idea that we’re here for a good reason. “She’s been peeking in people’s windows, sneaking through yards and scaring kids. Fifteen sightings in the past two months.”

The man’s head lowers. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

“I—I just wanted to see other people,” Lilly says. “I’m stuck here in the woods all the—”

“It’s not safe,” the man says. “You know that.”

Lilly stomps her foot on the ground, crushing a pinecone. “The only people I ever see are you, Grandpa Goodtracks, Joliet and Uncle Bray!”

The man cranes his neck to the sky, totally exasperated, like I remember my parents being with me.

“Look,” I say. “I don’t
need
to arrest you. That’s not really our job.”

“What
is
your job?” the man asks.

“To identify and monitor potential threats. As long as everyone plays nice, nothing bad happens.”

The man slowly turns his head toward me. I can just see the side of his face. Something about him is familiar, but a beard conceals most of his features. “Who are you?”

This time I answer. “Department of Homeland Security.”

The man grins. “Fusion Center-P?”

That he knows which department we’re from isn’t too surprising. After Nemesis tore through Boston and we played a critical role in saving the day, most people on the planet have heard of us. It’s the man’s reaction when I say, “Yes,” that catches me off guard.

He raises his hands higher and turns around slowly. “I was wondering when you might show up, Jon.”

Again, I’m a fairly recognizable person now. But the casual way he says my name clears some of the cobwebs from my mind. I
know
this guy. But I don’t recognize him until I see his brown eyes. “Mark?”

My weapon lowers in time with his raised arms. Mark Hawkins was an adventuring buddy. During our younger years, we trekked the woods together, went hang gliding, went base jumping and white water rafting. Then we became adults. I joined the DHS. He became a park ranger.

“I should have recognized the beanie,” he says with a smile, pointing at the red cap affixed to my head, cloaking my receding hairline. “How’s Betty?”

In my stunned state, I answer without thinking. “Dead. Took a bullet for me.”

Hawkins’s jaw goes slack. “Holy... I’m sorry.”

His stunned look and sorrow-filled eyes confuse me, until I realize that Hawkins never met the truck I named Betty. “You think I’m talking about girlfriend Betty!” I say with a laugh. “We broke up.”

“Who were you talking about then?” he asks.

“Truck Betty,” I say, like it’s all the explanation he needs. “She’s dead. But Helicopter Betty is fine.”

“You
know
them?” Collins asks, her weapon still partially aimed at Hawkins.

“I know
him
,” I say, looking at Hawkins. “Not his friend.”

“It’s okay,” Hawkins says to Lilly. “He’s safe.”

“I would never harm you or your girls,” I say, holstering my weapon. Sensing the girl’s unease, I step forward and extend my hand. She stares at it for a moment, and I think she might bite it off, but then she takes hold and shakes. Her fur is soft, but her grip is killer. “My name is Jon. Nice to meet you, Lilly.” I motion to Collins. “This is Ashley. She’s my partner.”

“She’s more than that,” Lilly says with a sly grin. The kid has been watching us for a while, since before I got my poison ivy. Speaking of which, I turn my attention back to Hawkins. “I don’t suppose you have any calamine lotion, do you?”

“Back at the house,” he says.

“Thank God.”

“But first,” Hawkins motions behind me. I turn to find a small blonde holding a handgun and an old Ute man with a rifle. “This is Howie Goodtracks and Avril Joliet.”

“AKA, backup,” I say with a grin. I take a step toward them, hand extended, when my sat-phone begins playing the Imperial March from
Star Wars
. This will be my colleague, Anne Cooper. We follow a strict radio-silence rule during investigations. What’s the point of searching for elusive creatures if a ringing phone might scare them off? But we also have to remain available, hence the sat-phone. And if Cooper is calling, that means something bad is going down.

I answer the phone. “What’s happening?”

As I listen to the voice on the other end, my face falls flat. Collins steps closer, a look of concern on her face. Hawkins, Joliet, Goodtracks and Lilly join her, all waiting to hear what I’m being told.

“I need an address,” I say to Hawkins. When he hesitates, I clarify. “For a helicopter pick-up.”

He gives me an address, and I relay it to Cooper before hanging up.

“Is it Nemesis?” Collins asks.

“Where?” Hawkins asks. He looks ready for action, and I wonder what his life has been like and how Lilly came to be a part of it. We’ll have to catch up on all that later. Right now, we have a helicopter to catch—and that bottle of calamine lotion.

I turn north and strike out, answering, “Hong Kong.”

3

Katsu Endo, formerly of the Japanese Self-Defense Force, had done things he wasn’t proud of to survive. First, was the shooting of Master Sergeant Lenny Wilson. But the act had saved his life and ingratiated him with General Lance Gordon. But his allegiance was never to Gordon. It was to the dead monster they had found buried in the wilds of Alaska. He’d spent his childhood admiring Japanese
Kaiju
, or ‘strange beasts,’ the way other kids admired superheroes. So, where the monster’s corpse went, his allegiance followed. And right now, his loyalty belonged to Zoomb, an Internet search engine turned technology behemoth.

At first, his duties involved protecting Zoomb’s CEO, Paul Stanton, but over the past year, fear of reprisal from Gordon had faded. Endo’s unique skill set, combining high intelligence, lethal fighting skills and special ops training, made him the ideal candidate for the R&D unit’s ‘field research team.’ In less politically correct terms, they were a corporate-espionage strike team, capable of stealing the competition’s technology and prototypes, ferreting out leaks or simply handling competition the old fashioned way—with bribery, extortion and threats of violence. In the corporate world, motivated primarily by money, these techniques worked better than actually killing people, which pleased Endo, because he was not fond of taking lives. He was driven but not coldhearted.

Thankfully, his passion and the goals of Zoomb’s R&D department were aligned. There was no higher priority for them than the original monster, Nemesis-Prime. They wanted to understand the creature. Where it came from. What motivated it. They wanted to extract technologies. They not only saw massive profit potential, but a way to change the entire world.

They had the original Kaiju creature’s carcass hidden away, but its petrified form kept most of its secrets well guarded. Although they had managed to extract a viable sample of the creature’s DNA, it had been lost with the destruction of the laboratory that gave birth to the new Nemesis. They had nearly succeeded in advancing medicine to a point where lives could be saved and extended, but instead they had succeeded only in creating a new monster—a successor to the original. But the monster’s creation also provided opportunity. For science. For medicine. And for war.